Sarah the Vampire Slayer
by Liam2
Summary: Think being a deep cover operative and handler of the US government’s most important intelligence asset is a heavy burden? Try being the Chosen One on top of it. Crossover with the Buffyverse. AU. Part Six: Yuletide Slayings
1. Another Town, Another Graveyard

Sarah the Vampire Slayer

By Liam2

Synopsis: You think being a deep cover operative and handler of the US government's most important intelligence asset is a heavy burden? Try being the Chosen One on top of it.

Rating: T for Teen. Basically a few cuss words.

Notes 1: This is a Chuck/Buffyverse crossover. For those unfamiliar with _Buffy the Vampire Slayer _or _Angel, _don't worry. I plan on including a crash course to help you understand things. For those who do know the 'verse, consider everything up through _Buffy: Season Eight _and _Angel: After The Fall_ to be fair game. Also, I have no idea where this fic is going. It'll probably only be a few parts. Also, as you read, you might notice that I'm writing this in the style and attitude that I would an _Buffy _or _Angel _fic.

Notes 2: Yeah, I know. You're asking _"Liam, dude, when you coming out with more _Chuck Versus The Road to Innocence?" Truth is, I haven't the foggiest. I've been having more family issues lately. And what little free time I've had to write has been spent on my original scripts. In the meantime, please enjoy this. I'm also probably gonna post a Willow/Angel _Buffy _fic in a few days, so feel free to enjoy that, too.

Oh, feedback please.

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PART ONE: ANOTHER TOWN, ANOTHER GRAVEYARD

Another town, another graveyard. Sometimes I really hate my life.

Not only am I a deep cover CIA operative tasked with protecting the US government's most important intelligence asset, an asset I "have to" play the role of cover girlfriend to (as if it's an actual burden), I also pull 32 hours a week selling frozen yogurt to horny teenage boys.

Then, of course, I have to perform my _other _otherjob.

Hence, a graveyard. At one o'clock in the freakin' morning. And a chilly one at that. Tomorrow night I'll remember to bring a jacket. Or at least wear more than an Orange Orange tank top.

Anyway, here I sit, atop the tombstone of Morton Granger (June 14, 1955- August 12, 1997, Beloved Husband and Father), a paperback copy of Robert Heinlein's _Stranger in a Strange Land_ in hand (damn Chuck for getting me hooked on his sci fi books!), staring at the freshly filled grave of Paul Allen (May 4, 1991-April 15, 2009, Beloved Son and Brother).

Jeez. Generic epitaphs much?

I spare a glance at my watch. Make that 1:02 in the freakin' am. I can't help the irritated sigh that escapes my throat.

"C'mon, Paul. I got a teleconference with Beckman at 7:30 and the Orange Orange opens at nine. I'd like to get a _few _hours of sleep."

Okay. So it's a bit bitchy on my part to be irritated. After all, the boy _just _died. On the other hand, I went through this same damn routine last night and only got three hours of sleep. I think I'm entitled to be bitchy.

That being said, the dead don't give a crap about _my_ schedule. So I'm not really surprised when it's nearly three hours later, just after 4 am, when the dirt above Paul's grave _finally _begins to shift and undulate.

A few minutes later, Paul drags himself out of the grave. In life he was a handsome boy. Curly blond locks. High cheekbones. The chiseled physique of an athlete. But now…

His hair is disheveled. Clothes dirty and torn. His eyes flash an unnatural and sinister golden hue. Sharp fangs protrude from his mouth. Heavy ridges adorn his brow.

He's a vampire, for those of you in the studio audience who haven't quite caught on.

I felt sorry for the kid. Couple weeks shy of his 18th birthday. Had his whole life to live. But that future was cut down when another vampire drained him and then forced the boy to drink its own life essence, turning Paul Allen into a soulless demon, a violent creature of the night.

Like I say, I felt sorry for the kid.

And then he opened his mouth.

Naturally, being a teenage boy and crawling from his grave only to be greeted by the sight that is the profound hotness of me, Paul's first words were: "Hey babe. Wassup?"

Well, I did feel sorry for him. Honestly. At least for a minute. "Seriously? That's your opening line? Maybe you _are _better off dead."

I reach behind my back to the waistband of my jeans. The stake forged from an ash Louisville slugger baseball bat feels just as right in my hands as my Colt 1911.

In an instant, I drive the sharpened point into the heart of Paul Allen. He stares down at the wound, a stunned expression on his face.

"Dude," he moans. "I thought we could party."

An instant later the young boy turns to dust, down to his skeleton, then explods, his ashen remains floating away in the slight nighttime breeze.

I spare another glance at my watch. 4:04 am. Crap. It'll be thirty minutes before I get home. Then to be ready for the 7:30 debriefing at Casey, I need to get up an hour beforehand to shower and load up on coffee, leaving about… two hours to sleep. Little more than a nap. And when I've been awake this long, two hours sleep is only gonna make me feel worse.

Sometimes I really get Chuck. It's a real pain working a side job that was essentially forced upon you. Especially when _you're not getting paid_.

"I'm gonna need coffee," I declare to the empty cemetery. "Lots and lots of coffee. I wonder where the nearest Waffle House is located."

Yup. As if being a deep cover operative didn't suck enough. I have to be a freakin' Slayer, too.

END PART


	2. Things That Go Poof In The Night

Ha ha! Did ya hear it? Did ya? I CLICKED!!!! Look, I realize most of you aren't gonna read this fic, but it made me CLICK! I needed that thing, you know? Stupid as it sounds, this fic, a dumb Buffyverse crossover, did it. I was writing this last night because I was bored and didn't want to do paperwork and so I just started goofing around with this, but point is, I CLICKED! I've already started work on Part 10 of _Chuck Versus the Road to Innocence_. Part 8 should be posted sometime around midnight CST tonight. He he! I FREAKIN' CLICKED!

And yeah, this fic came about because I've been on a serious _Buffy _and _Angel _kick lately. For those in the know, wouldn't Yvonne make a great Slayer? That kind of struck me last night.

PART TWO: THINGS THAT GO POOF IN THE NIGHT

Ever since I was a little girl, I've had strange dreams. Nightmares, really. Of bumpy headed monsters with golden eyes and sharp teeth. Of young women, most of them teenagers, doing battle with these vicious beasts, armed with nothing more than a sharp piece of wood.

Then, six years ago, as I was in the recreation room playing a game of billiards in my dormitory at the CIA training facility in Langley, I collapsed to the ground in a fit of pain. Lucy, the fellow trainee who I was playing, rushed to my side. She feared I finally had a stroke or anxiety attack from the pressure of the academy. But when I stood, I felt different. Better. Stronger. Complete.

Little did I know at the time, but 3000 miles away, in a small town two hours north of Los Angeles called Sunnydale, a bad ass Wicca Goddess had performed a spell. This spell took the power of the Slayer – a girl infused with the power of a demon to help rid the world of other demons – and gave that power to everyone with the potential to be a Slayer. A pretty neat trick considering that for centuries, only one girl at a time possessed the power of the Slayer. And when that girl was killed, when she was inevitable felled in battle, that power transferred to the next. Except now, that power was transferred to nearly 1500 girls throughout the world. Fifteen hundred girls with the ability to battle the demonic forces of darkness threatening to destroy mankind.

Heavy, right?

Of course, I didn't learn any of this until three years later while working a mission in Prague. I was staking out a tavern, tailing the chief lackey for a local arms smuggler. Suddenly, I felt this odd sensation radiate throughout my body. Like every single hair standing on end. A tingle in the back of my brain. A general sense of unease.

It was the first time I ever sensed a vampire.

I was so at unease, I had to get out of that tavern. Fast. Forgetting my mission, I threw a few bills to the counter and fled the building, emerging onto a dark, wintry Prague street.

It was only a few blocks to my fleabag hotel. I decided to cut through an alleyway, hoping to get back to the relative safety of my room. It was irrational, I knew. And I was more than a little ashamed of my behavior. I was supposed to be a bad ass agent. I was already garnering a reputation as one of the CIA's best. And here I was, spooked by nothing more than a vague sensation of danger.

Then I felt it again.

"Help me!" a voice rang out. Sharp, female, American.

I turned, looking towards the entrance of the alleyway I entered moments before. A young woman – a girl, really – was half running, half stumbling towards me. No older than 18 or 19, she was disheveled, her plain black dress dirty and torn. Underneath the grime covering her face, I could tell she was a pretty girl. I could also tell she was terrified.

"Help me, please!"

Instinctively, I reached behind me, fingering the grip of the Colt pistol at my waistband. The girl may look innocent, but that didn't mean she wasn't a threat. "Miss?" I called out. "Are you okay?"

The girl ran into my arms, tears flowing down her cheek. "There's a man! He's chasing me! He's done things to me! Please, help me!" The girl turned, gazing back down the alley. "Oh God! He's here!"

Looking up, I saw a dark figure.

"Miss, stay behind me," I ordered, shielding the girl with my body. I drew my weapon and released the safety. "Sir, stand down!"

The dark figure slowly approached, the streetlights illuminating the man. He was incredibly handsome. Powerful build, dark hair, an almost angelic face. Clad entirely in black, the man smiled slightly as he continued to approach, his duster flapping behind him in the breeze, looking quite cool and sexy.

"Gotta give her an 'A' for effort," the figure said. "Although I don't quite buy her pathos, do you? But what do you expect? The acting academies in Prague are for crap."

"Sir, I'm warning you," I said with as much steel as possible. "If you do not desist, I will fire."

"I wish you wouldn't," the handsome figure said wryly. "I just bought this jumper." He then cocked his head curiously, staring at the girl behind me. In disbelief he said, "Seriously? You're gonna bite the girl who saves you? That's hardly polite."

Confused as hell, I turned to face the girl. I gasped in horror at the sight. The once beautiful girl's face had contorted into a monstrosity. Golden eyes stared back at me. Her tongue flicked between razor sharp fangs.

"To be fair," she smirked, "he _is_ a real bad man. Of course, I'm a _real_ bad girl, too."

Despite my shock, I turned my weapon on the girl. In quick succession, I pumped three rounds into her chest.

"Ooh," I heard the handsome man moan. "That won't do much besides piss her off."

To my utter astonishment, the girl collapsed against the damp brick wall behind her, but did not go down. Instead, her eyes snapped up to meet mine. With a horrible growl, she spat, "Bitch, I'm gonna drain you."

Suddenly, the handsome man was there. With a flick of his wrist, a stake dropped down the sleeve of his duster into his hand. Before the deformed girl could blink, he rammed the sharp wooden point into her chest.

The girl turned to dust and exploded. For several long moments I simply stared at the spot where she had recently stood, expecting to wake up from this nightmare at any instant. Instead, it was the handsome man touching my shoulder that confirmed this nightmare _was_ reality.

I recoiled and jumped back a few steps. I aimed my weapon square at his chest.

"Are you okay?"

The concern in his voice nearly made me break into hysterical laughter. The handsome man held up his hands in a non-threatening manner.

"If I shoot you, will you stay up too?"

"Yes," the handsome man admitted. Just as I was prepared to pull the trigger, he added, "But don't worry. I'm not a biter."

Backing away a few more steps, I felt safe enough to spare a glance at the spot where the girl once stood. On the ground in her place was a pile of dust.

"D-did t-that girl just go… poof?"

"Yes." A few moments later, the handsome man inquired gently as possible, "Are you Sarah Walker?"

Unconsciously I nodded in reply.

"Good," he said. "I hate saving the wrong person. I've been looking all over for you. You're a hard girl to find."

"W-who are you?" I croaked out. To this day, I feel terribly foolish for how weak I sounded.

"My name is Angel," the man said. "And you and I need to talk."

END PART


	3. Slayer? I Barely Even Know Her

It's been several months since I've posted with this story. Since I'm taking a brief break from "Innocence" (don't get upset, I'm restarting on that fic tomorrow night), I thought I'd work a little on this and my original stuff. If anyone's interested, I also wrote a Doctor Who one-shot recently called "Swan Song". Check my profile page.

Yeah, I know this fic isn't terribly popular, but it makes me happy, so roll with it. Oh, and it helps if you're already a Buffy/Angel fan to catch some of the humor and references.

* * *

PART THREE: SLAYER? I BARELY EVEN KNOW HER

I knew the moment he entered the bar. Over the past couple of years, I've gotten better at detecting the presence of vampires. It's an almost palpable buzz that starts at the base of my spine and rolls like a tidal wave to my brain. Every hair stands on end. Frankly, it's unnerving as hell.

But he's got his own distinct buzz. Not the usual sensation I get from a vamp. Then again, he's not a usual vamp. Still, it creeps the hell out of me.

Don't get me wrong. I trust the guy. Trust him with my life. We've been through a few fights together, so I know that trust is justified. It just so happens that every instinct coursing through my body screams at me to put a stake through his heart. He may be a good guy, but I can never quite be comfortable around him.

"Sarah," he greeted, sliding into the neighboring bar stool.

"Angel," I replied, sipping at my whiskey.

You wanna know what's really funny? He's just as unsettled by me as I am by him. Told me so himself. Of course, I suppose that's only natural given he's sidling up next to a _vampire _slayer.

"What brings you to Hell-A?" I quipped. He chuckled at my comment. "What's so funny?" I asked.

"Hell-A." I obviously wasn't privy to the joke. Angel sighed. "Few years ago everyone in town remembered. Now, not so much." A beat, then: "You know, people hailed me as a hero." I still didn't get it. Angel quickly figured that out. "Never mind."

"O-kay," I drawled.

"What brings you to town?" Angel asked.

"Work. You?"

"Paying my respects to an old friend."

I noticed the bouquet of roses the vampire bore. On a white envelope tucked within, a single word was scribbled across the front: Cordelia.

"Must have been a good friend."

"The best."

We drifted into an awkward silence. It reminded me of our first conversation three years ago.

----------------

_"I'm a what now?"_

_"A vampire slayer," Angel said slowly and for the third time._

_"Destined to protect the world against vampires, demons, and the forces of darkness you say?"_

_"More or less."_

_"I'm dreaming."_

_"You're not dreaming."_

_"Then I'm high."_

_"I don't think so."_

_I paused to consider this._

_"So. Slayer then?"_

_"Mmm hmm."_

_I paused again, still not understanding._

_"You okay?" Angel asked._

_"Not really." I glanced around the diner. "Man, we should have found a bar."_

_"I'm getting that."_

--------------

Back in the present, Angel ordered a shot of whiskey.

"In town long?" I asked.

"Maybe," the vampire vaguely responded. I most assuredly didn't like his tone.

"Trouble?"

"Maybe," was the equally vague response.

I shook my head and muttered into my drink. "People say _I'm_ a lousy conversationalist."

"Sue me," Angel quipped back. "When it comes to people, I have two modes: bite and avoid. Neither are conducive to talk."

"Whatever. Deadboy."

The vampire grimaced at the nickname. "Don't call me that. I had a...friend...who used to call me that."

When he said friend, it came out sounding like "Some asshat whose neck I'd snap without even dignifying the kill by feeding off him".

Before I could retort, I felt the buzz. There was a vampire – correction – multiple vampires inside the bar. Glancing over to Angel, I saw he too sensed this.

"Who?" he queried, scanning the room. The answer quickly became obvious. Some biker dudes strutted into the bar. Six of the them. And it was clear they were looking for trouble.

The Leader of the pack, a tough looking son-of-a-bitch in his mid 30s, strode over to a pool table. There he snatched away some dude's beer and shoved the man away. He then proceeded to come on to the guy's girl.

"Any chance we can draw them outside?" I asked.

Three other vampires joined leader at the pool table. The other two walked to the bar and loudly demanded tequila.

"I'm thinking no," Angel answered. "You carrying?"

Crap. I knew I was forgetting something. It's just that I hated carrying around a large bag to conceal a stake...

Angel saw my hesitation. "Yeah. Me either." He turned back to the vampires. "They're young," he decided. "Twenty, twenty-five years old at the most."

"Yeah. I got that from their outfits."

Angel smiled affectionately. "Sounds like something my friend would say."

I didn't know how to respond to that, so I said, "I should introduce myself."

Angel merely said, "Be careful", as I got off my barstool and strode over to the pool table. Meanwhile, he casually moved closer to the two vamps by the bar.

I don't know why, but as I approached the Leader vampire, I began to assume my Brooklyn Homegirl persona. "Hey!" I called out loudly and in a slightly nasally voice. "Lookit you!"

Leader turned in interest at my arrival. But my eyes were fixed upon the frightened woman cowering nearby.

"Beat it, honey," I snapped at the woman. "I call dibs on this one." As the woman quickly backed away, I turned my brightest smile on the vamp. "Hello gorgeous."

"Hello," he smiled back.

I rubbed my hands over his denim jacket, feeling up his muscles. "You a biker, baby?" I cooed.

"I been known to enjoy a good ride," he smirked.

I snorted with laughter and lightly punched his shoulder. "I bet you have," I continued to giggle. "So...you wanna show me your ride?"

Leader spared a quick glance at his nearby lackeys. Well, crap. He then smiled down at me, this time with no good will at all.

"Bitch, you think I'm stupid? You think I don't know a Slayer when I see one?"

"Well, to answer your first question, yes..." Leader and his boys bristled. "To answer your second, if you knew I was a Slayer, you'd have brought more lackeys."

In a flash, I grabbed a billiard ball off the table and slammed it into Leader's forehead. As the vampire howled, I rolled across the table, picking up a stick. With a quick swipe, I backed the others up, giving me a moment to collect myself.

"You can still back out."

Leader smirked. "Six against one? I don't think so. I'm gonna savor draining you."

Suddenly Leader turned at the loud ruckus behind him. One of his vampire lackeys was writhing on the ground from a bleeding head wound, shards of whiskey bottle riddling his face. The other was currently getting his face repeatedly slammed into the bar by Angel.

I smirked. "You were saying?" I then snapped off the pool stick across my knee. Presto. Two stakes. "Whoever wants some, come get some."

The thing about public fights that always annoys me: the crowd. You'd think seeing six (well, check that, with Angel there's seven) bumpy headed guys with sharp teeth would be a cue to run for the hills. But no. Every damn person in the bar merely moved to the periphery, content to watch.

Before they could launch an attack, I booted the billiard table hard. With Slayer strength, the table skidded into Leader and another lackey, knocking them down for a moment.

The lackey on my right attacked. With a flick of my wrist, I buried one of my rudimentary stakes into his heart. The vampire quickly exploded to dust.

"Angel! Heads up!"

I tossed one of the stakes across the room. The vampire caught it, and in a swift motion, ended the existence of both his foes.

Now it was three versus two. Leader then realized that maybe he bit off more than he could chew.

"So...that offer to run still good?"

I didn't even need to look over to answer to see the smirk plastered across his face. "Sorry, bubba," I told him. "One time offer."

Two minutes later, there were six piles of dust scattered across the barroom floor. Fortunately, none were Angel.

"Well," he said. "That was fun, right?"

I couldn't hide my smile.

Then, of course, some brave soul approached us. Timidly he asked, "Who were those guys?"

"Vampires," I easily responded.

The man stared back blankly.

"A biker gang on PCP," I tried again.

This time the man, and everyone else in the bar, nodded in understanding. None questioned why the bikers exploded to dust. Angel was right. People really did turn a blind eye. Even to what was right in front of them.

END PART


	4. Pardon Me, But Your Teeth Are In My Neck

PART FOUR: PARDON ME, BUT YOUR TEETH ARE IN MY NECK

"Seriously, you know how weird my life is? Not only must I protect my asset – a guy I'm probably in love with – but I also work a cover job at a stupid yogurt shop selling soft serve. Oh yeah, and on the side I gotta slay the things that go bump in the night."

As we walked through the cemetery, I turned to Angel, embarrassed. "Sorry. You probably don't want to hear about my stupid life. As a vampire, I guess you never imagined you'd be listening to the ramblings of a Slayer as you patrolled a cemetery for evil monsters."

"Well..." Angel drawled, a strange lilt to his voice. "Let's just say I have a surprising amount of experience in this area."

"What? Being the personal sponsor of a Slayer?"

Angel merely shrugged, giving me the impression that's exactly what he meant.

"Seriously, what brings you to town?"

"I told you. Trouble might be brewing."

"What kind of trouble? Vampire gang? Thesulac demon? One of those weird things that looks like a giant green porcupine?"

"An apocalypse."

Well that sure as hell made me stop. "Can you say that again? And without the blasé attitude?"

"I wouldn't worry. Apocalypses are a dime a dozen." Then, a bit chagrined, Angel added, "I nearly caused one myself."

Suddenly, a large demon leapt from behind a mausoleum. Nearly seven feet tall with gray, scaly skin and horns running from its chin up along either temple, like a beard. Two larger horns sprouted from behind its ears and curled around like those of a ram.

We stared at the beast, annoyed at the interruption. "Do you mind?" I snapped. "We're in the middle of conversation here."

I delivered a sharp right cross, nailing the demon in the eye. It reeled and I followed up with a roundhouse kick to its gut.

The demon dropped to a knee, which allowed Angel to wrap his arm around its neck and give it a good — CRACK! The demon collapsed into the dewy grass, where it proceeded to melt like the Wicked Witch of the West.

"Oh good," I declared. "I like it when they melt. Burials are such a bitch." Angel merely hummed agreement. Turning back to Angel, I said, "Now this apocalypse thing. Are we talking Horsemen and Seas of Blood or what?"

"Eh. Usually nothing so prosaic. Typically it involves vortexes, blood rites, and raising some unspeakable evil. Or, you know, a giant snake."

"Oh. So the usual then?"

"Pretty much."

Oddly enough, I felt much better.

----------

_Prague...Three Years Earlier..._

"_Oof!" I cried out, my back slamming into the headstone. An instant later I had to weave left, narrowly avoiding the battleaxe that whizzed by my ear, nearly splitting the marble headstone in half. In response, I drove my right elbow into the demon's ear, giving me a moment to recoup._

"_A little help here?" I panted._

_Angel barely looked up from his newspaper. "You're doing fine. Just keep ducking and weaving. Find an opening."_

_The demon – a monstrosity with sickly yellow skin and snow white hair, not to mention body armor covering most of his torso – recovered from the elbow and swung his axe. I ducked low, avoiding being split in half, and delivered a punch to his groin._

_Man, I really hoped this demon had a groin._

"_Does this demon have a groin?" I called in a panic when the demon barely reacted. _

"_Yeah, just not between his legs," Angel replied. _

_The demon – a Whedon, Angel later called it – kept swinging his axe. I found an opening and drove my fist beneath its left armpit. The demon howled in terrible pain._

"_Oh yeah!" Angel shouted. "There's his groin!"_

_I spared a brief incredulous look at the vampire before ripping the battleaxe from the demon's grasp. With a hard pivot, I swung the axe. It's head rolled a good twenty feet._

_Angel offered a polite clap. "Nice. Your first demon."_

_I stared at the vampire, panting heavily. I'd been in fights before, but nothing like this. Nothing so...primal. "I hate you."_

_The vampire merely shrugged, unfazed._

"_Why did this happen to me?"_

"_You were born with the potential. I don't know why."_

"_But why did you come looking for me?"_

"_CIA training combined with the strength of a Slayer? You could be a good one. A real good one."_

_At the time, I wasn't comforted._

-----------

I parked my Porsche across the street from the bar. Chuck and I had a cover double date with Ellie and Awesome.

I turned to Angel, who sat in the passenger seat. "It okay if I let you out here? I kinda have a thing."

He looked to the bar. "Oh! Right."

We both exited the car and stared at each other over the hood. There was an awkward beat. "This apocalypse...should I be worried?"

"Ah, no," he waved dismissively. "These things are usually over hyped. I'll let you know when I learn more."

I looked away briefly, gathering my thoughts. When I looked back, Angel was gone. "Damn, I wish I could do that," I said, envious.

----------

The double date was going well. And by going well, I mean the line between cover and reality was slowly blurring to the point where I was dangerously close to merely being a normal girl hanging with her boyfriend and her friends.

But of course, like a big damn buzzkill...

As we gathered our drinks and moved towards the pool tables, I felt the buzz. Vampires. And they were terribly close.

Damn Chuck and his affable and easy going nature. Made me completely lose focus of the fact two blood thirsty predators were loose in the bar. They were at a neighboring pool table, working over a couple of hotties. And judging from the looks of things, the hotties were about worked over and ready to leave with these guys.

I saw one of the vamps nod to the other. They were ready to take the girls out for dinner.

Craptastic. Can't I _ever _get a night off?

The vamps gathered up the girls and went to the bar, paying their tab. They then moved towards the back entrance.

"Uh, I gotta use the little girl's room," I explained quickly, not even bothering to check anyone's reactions before giving pursuit.

----------

As I exited the bar, I suddenly found myself in a dark alley. About twenty yards away, I saw the group. Things appeared to be getting a little rough.

"Hey baby, forget the restaurant," one of the vamps declared. "We can eat right here."

Judging from the startled gasps, I ventured a guess the vamps, well, vamped out.

"Hey!" I called out in my best drunken voice. I added a little weave to the effect. "Any of you guys seen my car? It's blue and shiny..."

I approached the group. The vampires were clutching the frightened girls by their necks. I pretended to study their demonic faces carefully. "Dude, is that congenital, because if not, I know this great ointment..."

The lead vamp snarled. "I was gonna let you leave. But now, I think you can stick around for dessert."

I suddenly "sobered". "Sorry, babe. Gotta watch my weight."

I headbutted the vampire, sending him reeling. The other vamp took umbrage and dropped his would-be meal, turning to face me. Before he could do much of anything, I slugged him hard with a right hook to the jaw. I then reached for my—

Well, crap. I left my bag in the car. And my stake was in the bag. Peachy. Just peachy.

My attention diverted, the first vampire grabbed me from behind and threw me down the alley. I smashed into a pile of wooden shipping crates.

Sometimes, just sometimes, even I get lucky.

I grabbed a heavy shard of wood with a nice, pointy end and hid it beneath my body. When the lead vamp approached and moved to flip me over...

I buried the stake into his chest. With a POOF, grr-boy was floating in the breeze.

The second vamp charged hard. With a cool flip, I leapt to my feet and merely extended the stake forward. The vampire impaled himself on it. Like his brother, he became dust in the wind.

As I stood there, panting for breath, the two young women approached. "Those men," one of them whimpered. "Their faces, it was so awful. How did you...?"

"Don't worry about it," I said. "Why don't you two run along home?"

Both of them grasped my hand and fervently said their thanks. Wow. That usually didn't happen. The girls then turned and ran away. As I trailed their escape, my eyes found the back entrance to the bar. More accurately, I found a very confused Chuck staring at me.

"How...? That guy... With the poof?"

And sometimes, _most times_, I have the rottenest luck in the world.

"Chuck," I said. "Don't freak out."

END PART


	5. The Lamest Apocalypse Ever

_Officially I'm leaving this story as "In Progress", but this part more or less concludes my original story arc. So I may post updates, or I may not. Who knows? Feedback will dictate._

_--------------------_

PART FIVE: THE LAMEST APOCALYPSE EVER

--------------------

"Sorry, run that by me one more time."

"I'm a vampire slayer."

Chuck paused a moment to consider this. Ultimately, he decided, "Sure. Why not? I've got a computer in my head."

Well, I had to give him credit. He was taking it extraordinarily well. Far better than I did.

"If it makes you feel better, I understand what it's like to have a second job forced upon you against your will."

"Not really," he said immediately. Well, I didn't think it would. "So…" he started again. "Vampires are real?"

"Yup."

"Werewolves?"

"I have it on good authority, yes, but I've never seen one."

"Leprechauns?"

"Chuck, be serious." I realized how stupid that answer was even before Chuck shot me an exasperated look. "Okay, fair point," I admitted.

"And how long has this been going on?"

"Six years."

Chuck contemplated this answer seriously as well.

"Need a drink?" I asked.

"Desperately."

---------------

I expected something a little more…well, I'm not sure what I expected. Denial. Some sort of rationalization. Not…acceptance. Granted, it took two shots of Wild Turkey to get there, but Chuck got there. And I spent the rest of the night discussing my extracurricular adventures with a captive audience.

"Whoa," he finally declared.

"That's not the four letter word I used," I replied.

"So where does this leave us?" Chuck asked.

Good question. I finally settled on, "You keep my secret, I'll keep yours."

Suddenly my phone began to ring. The name of the caller was unlisted, but I recognized the number. It was Angel. "Yeah?"

"_It's time. Meet me at 4125 Wilshire in an hour. Be sure to bring your good weapons."_

I disconnected. "Chuck, look, I gotta go."

"Your real job, your cover job, or your _other _job."

"My other job."

Chuck stood up from his bed, a look of determination on his face. "I'm coming with you."

Uh, no he wasn't. "No you're not."

"We work better together," Chuck pointed out.

"This isn't your job."

"Neither is being a spy, but I do it anyway." Upon his face was a look of utter resolve. "I'm coming with you, whether you like it or not."

"I could lock you in the closet."

"You won't," he smirked, daring me to do so.

Crap. I've turned into a big, damn softy.

"Do you promise to follow my orders?" Chuck nodded fervently.

And apparently I've also turned into a big, damn moron.

---------------------

I pulled the Porsche to a screeching halt in front of the address Angel gave. True to form, Angel was already there, lounging by the trunk of his Plymouth convertible.

He greeted us both politely, confused by the presence of Chuck. But his incredulous facial expression asked, "This is the guy? Seriously?" I shrugged, which effectively said back, "Yup, this is my man."

Angel popped open his trunk and threw his duster inside. Then he retrieved a pair of wrist holsters, each loaded with a stake. Piston driven, with a flick of his wrist, a stake would appear in his hand. He also removed a large broadsword and a smaller dagger.

I popped open the trunk of my Porsche. Chuck was used to the array of CIA weapons: the Benelli shotgun, various knives and smalls arms, and an assortment of flashbangs and grenades. But when I lifted the false bottom of the trunk, his jaw dropped at what lay beneath.

There were of course numerous blades and daggers. But I also had crosses, stakes, and bottles of holy water. There was also a Bible and various stinky herbs for any rituals that I might need to perform. I even had an Orb of Thesullah, which Angel informed me was always handy to have around. Never said why, though.

I grab my Japanese katana, a stake, and a couple vials of holy water. "Any idea what's going on?"

"Yeah, I talked to Lenny…"

"Oh, Lenny! How is Lenny?"

"Good. He and his wife just moved into the sewer tunnels beneath Broadway. They actually just spawned a new litter of offspring."

"Good for them. Give he and Linda my best."

"Sure. Anyway, Lenny says some local vamps have been working for a Morelock demon."

"Morelock demon?" I asked.

"Yeah, Harbingers of Doom, Creators of Chaos." I must have had a strange look on my face, because Angel added, "They have great representation. Or they did, until their base of operations on the west coast disappeared." I must have still had a strange look on my face. "Never mind."

"So they're Faulknerian? Lotta sound, no fury?"

"Oh no, a Morelock will rip out your spleen and wear it for a hat. I'm just saying they really work the PR to their advantage."

"Okay, so what's the deal? What are they doing?"

"Lenny says this particular Morelock has discovered the Scroll of Zanthar. In it contains passages which could, theoretically, unleash Hell on Earth."

"So how do we stop it?"

Angel headed towards the entrance of the abandoned bakery. "Stop the ritual before the Morelock sacrifices the nuns."

I blinked. "Hold on, did you say nuns?" I followed Angel, only vaguely aware of Chuck scrambling after us both.

-------------

This bakery was only recently vacated. Meaning the dust and cobwebs inside weren't near as bad as some of the mausoleums I hang out in. Chuck and I followed Angel through the storefront area to the actual bakery in back.

"So…nuns?" I asked again.

"Where else are you gonna find virgins these days?" Angel asked.

I paused, thinking it over. "Good point."

"Anyway," the vampire continued, "get a couple virgins, the right incantation, the proper astrological occurrence, a ceremonial dagger blessed by Fraulen priests, and you got a recipe for badness."

Suddenly a loud clatter sounded behind us. Chuck looked sheepish. At his feet were metal trays and pans, which he obviously tripped over. The vampire turned to me, still wearing a look of disbelief.

"Seriously?"

"What?"

The vampire shook his head. "Oh yeah. Working with a Slayer and her idiot male sidekick. Just like old times."

Angel continued on. I turned back to Chuck. "Listen, Chuck, you follow the game plan, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Stay in the car."

"Chuck! I'm being serious. This isn't like our usual missions. You wait on the sideline until I wave you in. And then your job is merely to grab the nuns and get out. Angel and I will handle the fighting. Do you understand?"

"I have one question."

I quirked a brow, asking him to hurry up and ask.

"Is Angel, you know, a…" Chuck proceeded to hiss at me and flash his incisors.

"A hissing cockroach? No, and I'm sure he would resent the implication. Now hush and come along." We walked a few steps, then I paused and looked back at him. I grabbed a stake from my jacket pocket and thrust it at him. "Just in case."

Chuck stared at the sharpened wood and said, "Eep."

-----------

I lead the way down the stairs into the basement. Angel followed close behind, and then several feet behind him was Chuck. For once I thought he might actually heed my advice.

There were three old workbenches arranged around an altar. On those benches were – presumably – the three nuns, each dressed in simple white nightgowns. Of course they were tied down and gagged. The seven lackey vampires in attendance were looking at the nuns like Britney Spears at a country buffet.

And there, working at the altar, flicking various herbs into a ceremonial flame, was the Morelock demon. Six feet tall, with dark green leathery skin and bright red eyes…and was that an Armani suit?

"Okay guys!" I called out. The vampires all snapped around to glare at me. The Morelock spared a quick glance over his shoulder before turning back to his ancient papers and ceremonial fire. "This is my first apocalypse, so please, be gentle."

This seemed to capture the Morelock's attention. "Oh, hello," he said in a proper English accent. "You must be the new Slayer I'm hearing such wonderful things about. Sarah, is it?"

"My reputation precedes me. Sweet. And you are?"

"Clive."

Sure. A demon named Clive. Why not? "A pleasure, Clive."

"Who are your friends?" he asked curiously.

"This is Angel," I said, motioning to the vampire. "And this is Chuck," I said, motioning to, well, Chuck.

"Ah!" Clive cried in delight. "The infamous vampire with a soul. Yes, I've heard wickedly delightful things about you, as well." He then turned to Chuck. "My apologies, I've not heard of you."

"Sorry?" Chuck answered, almost ashamed.

"Please, no apologies. I'm sure we'll become better acquainted when I rip out your spleen and wear it for a hat."

Chuck snapped his attention on Angel. "You weren't making that up?!" he asked incredulously.

"Sarah, Angel," Clive began, then almost as an afterthought added, "Chuck. I wish I had the time to offer you all a proper cup of tea, I really do. But I simply must perform this hellraising ritual. It requires a blue moon to be performed, and as you know, that only occurs, well, once in a blue moon." Clive snorted lightly at his own humor. "Oh, and the nuns. I hate to waste a good nun. Don't you, Angel?"

I turned to Angel. He seemed to shrug in agreement. When he saw me looking, he defended, "What? I used to be evil. And I had a thing for nuns."

I shook my head and turned back to Clive and the vampires. "Well, hate to tell you, but we can't let you raise hell. Well, maybe metaphorically, but certainly not literally. You know what I'm saying, right?"

"I believe so."

There were a few moment of awkward silence. Finally, just for the hell of it, I suggested, "Wanna fight now?"

"If we must."

And so the fisticuffs began. I'd like to say it was an epic battle. That against overwhelming odds, the White Hats somehow managed to rip victory from the jaws of defeat. But really, his lackeys just sucked. You'd think if you had plans to destroy the world, you'd at least pay for some decent flunkies. Ones that can actually take a punch.

After I dusted my fourth vamp – Ha! I slew one more than Angel! – we turned to face Clive. He surveyed the scene, his musty old papers in one hand, a ceremonial dagger in the other. He looked like a petulant child just told he wouldn't be getting a puppy for his birthday.

"Well…bugger," he pouted.

Oddly, my sentiments nearly mirrored his. "Seriously? _That's it? _That's what all the fuss was about?" I turned to Angel. "I feel cheated."

The vampire merely shrugged. Clive shuffled through his papers.

"I went through so much effort. Do you know how hard it is to find someone who can actually _translate _Epoxian? Or how much it _costs _to have it translated? Granted, I killed him directly after, so I didn't pay, but the point remains." He sighed and looked at us over his wire rim glasses. Strange. A demon that wore glasses.

"I suppose you must kill me now," he concluded.

I shrugged. I really did. Granted, he seemed nice enough for a blood thirsty, hell-raising demon. But I'd be a lousy Slayer if I didn't, well, Slay.

"Make it quick? And try not to muss the suit," he said.

With a swift pivot, I swung my katana and sliced through his neck. His head rolled across the floor, near the dusty remains of one of his lackeys.

From his perch on the stairwell, Chuck declared, "Okay. I'm never sleeping again."

-----------

"Well," I told the nuns, "when people ask you what happened, keep it simple. Just insert 'biker gang' and 'PCP' into your explanation. Works like a charm. 'Kay?"

The nuns nodded in stunned agreement and Angel ushered them into his convertible. We then had a nice moment together.

"Good fight," he said.

"Nice workout," I countered.

Silence. Then, he said, "Next time?"

"Look forward to it."

With a wry smile, Angel climbed into his convertible and drove off. I waved goodbye before turning to have the tough conversation with Chuck.

He sat on the hood of my car – man, I really wish he wouldn't do that, but I'll cut him some slack this time – and stared off into space. It didn't take a spy to realize he was trying to process what just happened. I joined him on the hood – I'd remember to give her a good wax tomorrow – and slipped my hand into his.

"You okay?" Chuck snorted in laughter. The kind of laugh a man questioning his own sanity might emit. "Okay, stupid question," I admitted.

"This is what you do every night?" he asked.

"When I'm not doing spy work or spending a relaxing cover sleepover with you? Yup."

"I think we did something wrong in our past lives," he theorized.

"I've thought that a number of times." After a few moments of silence, I squeezed his hand. "Know what'll help? Waffles. Waffles make everything better."

Chuck nodded, liking the idea. "I could eat."

As we moved to climb into the car, I realized something. "You know, I think this is the first time you've ever stayed in the car," I joked.

"First time the bad guys have ever had fangs," he answered. "Makes a guy take a step back."

Fair enough.

After a few moments, Chuck asked, "So. Angel. Vampire?"

"Yup."

Chuck thought about this. "Huh. He seems nice."

END PART


	6. Yuletide Slayings

_The previous chapters were in 1st person, but from here on I think I'll go with 3rd. I've got a seventh chapter in the works. It'll probably be published sometime in the near future.

* * *

_

PART SIX: YULETIDE SLAYINGS  
_

* * *

_

_Evergreen Cemetery_

_December 23, 2009_

"So what time should I come over tomorrow?" the striking blonde asked into her cell phone.

It was past sundown. Way past, in fact. Shortly after eleven. The cemetery was dark and chilly. While earlier in the day scores of people milled about, wishing a Merry Christmas to their departed loved ones, the cemetery was now abandoned. But now only this lovely young woman remained.

Well, she and the dark figure lurking in the shadows watching her.

"Should I bring the stuffing then?"

The figure moved around to the woman's five o'clock.

"I'm really looking forward to Christmas this year, especially after last year's debacle. Promise me we'll watch that _Twilight Zone _marathon this time."

The figure moved closer, within twenty feet, using a large angel headstone as cover.

"I want to say thank you. I've never had a real Christmas before. I…I love you, Chuck." The woman blushed as the person she spoke to reciprocated her answer.

Sarah Walker disconnected the call and slipped the phone into her jacket pocket. She stared out at the expansive territory before her and blew circles of breath in the cool December air. Then, quite suddenly, she said:

"Dammit, Spike, knock it off. The stalker thing is just creepy."

From behind the headstone emerged the bleach blonde vampire. His hair slicked back, a Marlboro at his lips, donning his trademark all-black attire. Tight jeans, t-shirt, duster. He flicked the cigarette stub aside and fixed her with a sexy smirk.

"How'd you know it was me, pet?"

"I could hear your heavy breathing," Sarah wryly answered. She was vaguely annoyed by the vampire's presence, but underneath that annoyance was an odd affection. "What are you doing here, Spike?"

The vampire shrugged in that infuriating manner of his as he sauntered towards her. Lean and sleek, he reminded Sarah of a panther stalking its prey. Of course, Sarah was reasonably certain that what Spike was after wasn't blood.

"I was in the neighborhood. Thought I'd check on my favorite blonde slayer."

"Buffy still not returning your calls?" Sarah asked. She watched the vampire bristle slightly. Sure, it was a cheap shot. But the cocky vampire had that effect on her.

"Silly bint doesn't know what she's missing," he defiantly declared.

Then, with that affection, Sarah fondly said, "No, she doesn't."

Her comment seemed to instill all the confidence Spike needed. He continued to move closer, exaggerating his every movement for maximum seductive effect. His hands went to Sarah's hips and he guided her towards a nearby mausoleum, pressing her back against the stone wall.

"What about you, love?" Spike crooned. "Do **you **know a good thing when you see it?"

"I do," Sarah drawled back, teasing. "But I have a boyfriend."

"So? What he doesn't know…"

He leaned in and captured Sarah's lips. Their kiss exuded serious heat. Sarah's hands went to his t-shirt, lifting it above his stomach. Then—

"Eeeeeoooooowwww!"

The vampire bellowed in pain. He leapt away and glanced down at his scalded stomach, a "t" shaped impression in the flesh. Yellow eyes snapped up to meet Sarah's teasing gaze. She flashed a crucifix.

"Didn't I mention? I always use protection."

Beneath his vampire visage, Spike smirked. "Aw. You don't need protection. Not with me."

"I need protection **from** you," Sarah smiled prettily in return. "Or at least from your undead libido. Remember the part where I mentioned **boyfriend**? Or has the bleach fried your brain? Seriously, how stupid do I look?"

Spike shrugged. "I was hoping stupid enough to shag me without asking too many annoying questions."

Very seriously, Sarah stated, "I'm not a replacement slayer. And I'm certainly nobody's second best."

"Believe me, love. You're one of a kind."

Sarah rolled her eyes and continued down the cemetery path. A few moments later, Spike fell into easy step beside her. His eyes roamed her body, a silly smirk at his lips.

"So…how's the Great Poof?"

"Wha-huh?"

"Angel," Spike clarified.

"How should I know?"

Spike sniffed – he actually _**sniffed **_**– **her.** "**Because you smell like him. He's been around recently."

"Seriously, what have I told you about sniffing me? Weirdo."

They exited the cemetery and began to walk the quiet neighborhood streets.

"I noticed how you haven't answered my question," Spike smirked. "Is grand-pappy the love 'em and leave 'em sort?"

Sarah crinkled her nose in disgust. "First, eww. I like my men with a pulse. Two, boyfriend, remember dumbass? Three, shut up. Angel and I are just friends."

Spike mumbled, amused, "Yeah, I've heard that line before."

"The years of sniffing peroxide fumes and bleach seeping into your skull really has damaged your brain, hasn't it?" Sarah asked.

The two walked silently for a few minutes. They passed a Santa ringing a bell and asking for donations to Salvation Army. Sarah slipped a five into the pot. To her surprise, Spike also slipped a couple singles in.

"What?" he defended. "Angel isn't the only vampire with a soul."

Sarah shrugged agreement. "Got any plans for Christmas?"

"Nah," Spike said. "Might pop into this demon bar down on Park and play some kitty poker." Sarah looked at him strangely. "It's poker, but kittens are used for chips."

"Well that's weird," Sarah said. "What do you do with the kittens if you win…?" The answer suddenly hit when she saw Spike waggle his eyebrows and bare his teeth. "And that is completely disturbing and I'm sorry to have ever met you."

"C'mon, love," Spike cajoled. "You don't mean that. We've been through too many scraps together."

"Whatever," Sarah mumbled. She blew another ring into the cool air. "Wanna come have Christmas with us? I can tell everyone you're my British cousin." She looked over Spike's state of dress. "My British, perpetually stuck in the 80s, cousin."

"Do I look like a guy that does family holidays?" Spike snapped.

"Chuck's sister makes the best chicken and dumplings."

Spike considered this. "Well, I might drop by…" He noticed that Sarah suddenly stopped. "Whatsa matter, Walker?"

Sarah was staring across the street. "Spike…is that Santa trying to eat a homeless guy?"

Spike looked. In the entrance to an alleyway, a homeless man was cowering on the pavement. His attacker loomed above, bent over, hand wrapped around the man's throat. Beneath the bright red suit and white fuzzy beard, both could detect scaly green skin.

Then, the homeless man screamed.

"Yup," was Spike's response.

Like shot out of a cannon, Sarah and Spike rushed into action. With a harsh battle cry, Sarah leapt at the murderous Santa—

And bounced off the demon like a pinball. For when Sarah viewed the demon from across the street, the beast was crouched over. But now that it reared to full height, Sarah could see just how massive it was.

"My," Spike drawled, actually taking a step back. "Santa's been eating his Wheaties."

The massive green beast was nearly eight foot high. It's massive right claw – and it was a claw, replete with razor sharp nails – released its grip on the homeless man. The demon turned its full attention upon its attackers.

"Tell me you're armed," Spike begged.

Sarah withdrew a stake from her jacket. "I have this," she lamely stated.

"Never bring a stake to a fight when you need a bazooka," Spike groaned.

"YOU DARE STAND AGAINST ORITHAR?" the beast bellowed. "I WILL TEAR AWAY YOUR FLESH AND GRIND YOUR BONES INTO POWDER."

"Please," Spike said. "I've gone against demon lords and hundred foot monstrous worms that used to be my best friend. Think I'm scared of you, Shrek?"

Spike vamped out and leapt at the demon. But Orithar swung a beefy arm and swatted the vampire away like a mosquito. Spike slammed into a dumpster and collapsed to the pavement.

"Hey! Lou Ferrigno!" Sarah shouted, rising to her feet. "What the hell is with you? Seriously, you're eight feet tall and green. Do you really think wearing a Santa outfit is gonna offer much disguise?"

"SILENCE, SLAYER! I WILL RIP YOUR TONGUE FROM YOUR YELLOW SKULL!"

"No," Sarah said resolutely.

"ORITHAR IS TOLD 'NO' BY NO ONE!"

"Well, I'm saying it, so you better deal. Because you are not ruining my Christmas."

"ORITHAR…!"

"Orithar needs to shut the hell up!" Sarah interrupted. The tiny blonde approached the massive demon, unwavering. She actually poked a finger into the demon's chest. Well, actually its stomach, for that was as high as she could reach.

"YOU DARE STAND AGAINST ME, PITIFUL HUMAN?"

"I'm giving you one chance to get lost," Sarah gritted. "One chance, because it's Christmas, and I'm in a giving mood. But I swear, if you make me fight you, I will go medieval on your ass."

The demon bellowed, its booming voice echoing against the brick alley walls, loud enough to rupture eardrums. It swung a massive hand down, intent on crushing Sarah's head—

Sarah whipped her stake upwards, meeting the hand halfway. The sharpened wood drove through the demon's hand. Orithar bellowed in pain. The demon lifted its other hand, intent on delivering a deathblow.

From behind, Spike finally recovered. He leapt at the demon, feet first, and delivered a drop kick behind its left knee. The demon wavered, its base of support crippled. It collapsed to a knee. Now, slayer and vampire could meet it eye to eye.

Sarah snarled at the beast. "I spent last Christmas held hostage in a Buy More. It was my first chance at a _real _Christmas. And I will be _damned _if I'm gonna let you ruin this one for me."

Sarah struck a sharp right hook, connecting with the demon's jaw.

"Because I have a boyfriend who loves me!"

Left hook to the jaw.

"We're gonna lounge around in our pajamas and watch _Twilight Zone_!"

Straight right to the nose.

"I'm gonna make pecan pie and stuffing!"

Straight left to the nose.

"Then on Christmas Day, we're gonna open presents!"

She slammed the heels of her hands into Orithar's ears.

"Then Chuck and I will go back to bed and snuggle!"

She delivered a right boot into the demon's gut. It doubled over in pain.

"It's gonna be the most perfect day ever!"

She wrapped her right arm around the demon's neck, the back of its head beneath her armpit.

"I will NOT be denied!"

With a sharp jolt, Sarah snapped the demon's neck with a loud CRACK. She tossed the broken body aside. Panting heavily, she noticed Spike staring at her, incredulous.

"What? No one's gonna ruin Christmas for me."

"Sure," Spike drawled.

They stared at each other, catching their breaths. Finally, Sarah asked, "Can I expect you over tomorrow?"

"Yeah, okay."

"Cool. I'll tell Ellie. Call me tomorrow and I'll give you the address. Merry Christmas, Spike."

"Merry Christmas, Sarah."

Sarah smiled widely. This really was going to be the best Christmas ever.

Suddenly, the homeless man made his presence known. Laying flat at the ground, he stared at Orithar's corpse. "What just happened?"

Slayer and vampire each offered the homeless man a few bills before heading off. "Hey Spike, there's gonna be a guy at dinner. Little, fuzzy beard, smells like cheese puffs. If he asks you to sing _White Wedding_, just don't kill him, okay?"

"No promises."

END PART

_Coming Soon, in Part Seven: I add a third crossover element to the mix. Sarah Walker, Vampire Slayer meets Cassandra Hack, Slasher Slayer.  
_


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